


If Only

by fraufi666



Category: Historical RPF, Political RPF - Australian 20th-21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Authority Figures, Interviews, Jealousy, Lost Opportunity, M/M, Politics, Regret, Reminiscing, Romance, Self-Discovery, Young Malcolm Turnbull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666
Summary: A former Liberal Party leader has died, six months before the leadership spill that would change everything. While writing a eulogy for Malcolm Fraser, Malcolm Turnbull reminisces on the brief time he had spent with the politician. When interviewing him as a young journalist, prior to the 1975 Constitutional Crisis, Turnbull discovers that perhaps he is not so different to Fraser after all.
Relationships: Malcolm Turnbull/Malcolm Fraser
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is an AU. Although I have used real people and political figures this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased.

20 March, 2015.

It was that day that the Communications Minister had found the letter on his desk. Without much thought of its significance, or where it came from, he started to read it.   
  
The letter slowly fell from his fingers onto the desk. The words “Former Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser dead at 84” appeared far too matter-of-fact, too taciturn. Turnbull turned to look out of the window. The bright summer sky did nothing to ease the mixture of feelings he experienced after reading that letter. It was as if life was just carrying on like nothing had happened. Australia lost one of its great leaders, and everything around him seemed unaffected. In the next few minutes he would have to write a speech of condolence on the death of this leader, and his mind buzzing with too many thoughts to articulate anything on paper.

Later, he would write the speech. It was up to him to do it, for Abbott would only make a mess of things like he always did. But right now, he needed to work through all of the thoughts that were flitting through his mind.

Turnbull got up from his desk and walked closer to the window. Despite being far away from Canberra, he could almost see it in plain sight: the old style Parliament House, with its glaring white paint and symmetrical, rectangular form. He was never really a fan of the architecture himself, for it seemed too reminiscent to the regal buildings of Britain. Yet despite this, he could never forget the memories he had within that place.

In just a few moments, he was a starry-eyed twenty-four year old again. His tousled brown hair, parted to the side, with a sharp wit, he was a journalist interviewing some of the big names in politics. Kerry Packer and Rupert Murdoch had time for him and he was doing so well for himself. There was a promising career for him in journalism, although he was still keen to become a lawyer. He was also in love with the young Lucy Hughes, who he would eventually marry. Things were looking up.

Yet, he received a phone call that would change his life forever. After painstakingly cold-calling everyone who had connections to the Opposition Leader, Malcolm Fraser, he finally managed to hear the words that his tired, sore ears were willing to hear.

“Yes, Malcolm. Mr Fraser would be interested to speak with you.”

“I…thank you sir.” Turnbull stammered, “When will be the right time to see him?”

“Mr Fraser will be available late tomorrow afternoon…about five ‘o clock. He is usually out of Parliament by then.”

Turnbull felt comforted by this. There would be more than enough time for him to book a flight to Canberra. He just hoped that the man would be willing to answer his questions.


	2. Chapter 2

Never, did he think that the Opposition Leader would be up to speaking to him. He felt nervous as he walked through Parliament House, admiring the long corridors that seemed to emanate so much power. Right now, the man that he was going to talk to was having a furious debate with Gough Whitlam and he would have loved to see them go at each other. But, he had a task to do, and as assigned, he waited in front of Fraser’s office. He was going to be done soon, and thinking about him made the handle of his satchel wet with perspiration.

After what seemed like an eternity, he saw the Opposition Leader, walking down the hall with an entourage of staff. He towered over all of them, dressed in an immaculate pin-stripe suit. It was a daunting, but dazzling sight. As soon as Fraser spotted the young journalist, he turned to the others, asking them to leave him in peace. They scattered like birds.

Fraser walked up towards the young man, his face stoic and giving nothing away. It was just like how he was depicted in the political cartoons: like an Easter Island head statue.

“Good afternoon, Mr Fraser.” Turnbull said, holding out his hand, “Thank you for agreeing to do the interview with me.”

Fraser ignored the hand before him and went to open his office door, “Alright, let’s just get on with it.” He said dismissively.

Baffled, as well as slightly offended by the man’s rudeness, Turnbull followed him in reluctantly. He needed to do this story. It was far more important than anything else. But somehow, it felt like a stab in the heart that the Opposition Leader seemed so unwilling to speak to him. Was his allegiance to the Liberal Party not enough?

Fraser sat down in his seat. “So what is it you’d like to ask me…young Malcolm?” He asked.

Turnbull was taken aback that he knew his name before he had a chance to introduce himself, but it was possible that he just remembered what his secretary had told him.

“Do you have aspirations to be Prime Minister, Mr Fraser?”

The politician looked slightly stunned by the directness of his question, and there was a hint of a smile on those thin lips. “Wouldn’t you?” He asked.

The young man was confused, “I don’t quite follow…” He said, hoping to steer him back to the topic at hand, “I’m not sure this has anything to do with me.”

Fraser smirked, leaning back in his seat, “I think, if you want to interview me, you have to give me something in return. I barely know anything about you, and yet you know everything about me. It feels…unbalanced.”

Turnbull felt his heart skip a beat, “Mr Fraser…I don’t-“

“And enough with the ‘Mr Fraser’ nonsense. Please, call me Malcolm. It is, after all a fine name.”

 _But it isn’t even your first name_ , Turnbull wanted to point out but decided to swallow his words.

“Okay, M-Malcolm.” Turnbull stammered, feeling a little strange with having to say his own name, “Can you tell me please whether you have aspirations to be Prime Minister?”

The older man gazed into space as he took in the journalist’s question. “I think the real question you should be asking, is why are the public letting Mr Whitlam destroy the nation’s economy?” He said pensively.

“So you think, that you would be a better replacement?” Turnbull asked, making sure his tape recorder was at the ready,

“Young Malcolm,” Fraser said, his eyes flitting back to the young man, “Has there ever been a problem you have encountered in your own life, where you believe that the solution is staring at you in the face, but nobody else can see it?”

Turnbull furrowed his brow, thinking carefully at the words. “I-I can’t say for sure, but I do have a strong sense of justice, and if I see any wrongdoing, I would do anything in my power to fix it.” He responded honestly.

The politician smiled approvingly. “I thought you might say that. I wanted to be a lawyer myself, back when I was your age. But politics was my true calling. See, when you are a lawyer, you only fight for what is right for whoever is paying you. You don’t get to stick to your own convictions, but instead become a slave for the convictions of others.”

It was incredible how the man seemed to read him like a book. Turnbull was planning to become a lawyer, but he had not mentioned any of this to Fraser.

“How do you know-“

“It’s obvious.” Fraser answered quickly, “You speak like an idealist. A true independent thinker. But a career in law will crush that idealism. In politics, you can make change happen by your own terms.”

“So that’s why you went into politics.” Turnbull tried to rationalise, “So is Liberal’s plan to block the money bills a way to stall Labor’s reforms?”

“You cannot run a government without money, as Mr Whitlam will soon realise.” Fraser explained. His gaze seemed to pierce into the young man’s. He paused for a moment, before continuing to talk.

“Come closer to the light.” Fraser beckoned, “I’m afraid my eyesight is not as good as it once was.”

Slightly puzzled by this odd request, Turnbull got up from his chair and walked towards him. Fraser took him in, the dark eyes watchful, but curious as he scanned him from head to toe.

“Why am I doing this?” Turnbull asked, more to himself rather than to the Opposition Leader.

Fraser laced his fingers together, gazing at the young man sternly. His mind was deep in thought.

“I think you know why you’re doing this.” Fraser said finally after a silence. “Because you have aspirations to be more than just a journalist. You speak like someone who has strong Liberal Party values.”

Turnbull frowned, for he had renounced his membership once he had begun journalism, “How did you know this?”

There was a hint of a smile, but Fraser did not give much away. He stood up from his chair and walked over to the door.

“I think this is all we have time for. You can see your way out.”

Turnbull was startled by abrupt end to the interview. He felt cheated.

“But we haven’t finished yet…Malcolm.” Turnbull pointed out.

The tall politician opened the door for him. His cold, serene face betrayed not a single emotion.

“I am afraid I am very busy.”

“You _agreed_ to have an interview with me.” Turnbull started, his voice rising in anger. He had come all the way to Canberra, only to be derailed from his questions and then shown out of the door. “You can’t make a promise and then break it! That kind of attitude will never give you votes!”

Regret immediately set in after anger. He took off, bolting through the corridor, much to the surprise of the staffers passing by. He did not even get to see the expression on that stoic face, not that it mattered anymore. Turnbull had lost his opportunity for a good news story and now Fraser was not even going to bother talking to him again, not after the way he had carried on.

Panting, he managed to make his way to the nearest bus stop. _Why did I lash out like that?_ He wondered to himself. It was not like him to just lose his temper when he was under pressure, for he had dealt with far more difficult subjects before in his line of work. Turnbull could feel the cold setting in as the sun began to set on the desolate Canberra horizon. He felt so spent, so exhausted and now he was heading back home with nothing.

Perhaps this was a sign that he should focus more on revising for his exams.


	3. Chapter 3

The next couple of days, he was busy cramming for an exam he had only started revising for. Turnbull tried to get the thought of Fraser out of his mind.

One evening, when he was about to drop off to sleep from all the boring notes he had to read, he heard the phone ring in his apartment.

He picked up the phone, his head throbbing in pain from too much studying.

“Hello?”

“Malcolm…glad to hear your voice again.” A familiar, calm deep voice said. Fraser.

Turnbull rubbed his eyes, making sure he was not just dreaming from all the lack of sleep he had. “M-Mr Fraser?”

“Don’t be so alarmed. I must say, you left quite an impression on me. Why don’t you come by my office sometime tomorrow? I’ll make it worth your while.”

The young man frowned, but he could not possibly hang up on him. The politician sounded serious. He had to go through with it.

“Okay, I’ll be there.” Turnbull said finally, still amazed about the change of heart. “Bye sir.”

The line went dead.  
  
He tossed and turned all night, struggling to sleep. Since the phone call, sleeping was the last thing on his mind, but he needed the energy to work. He wanted to prove to himself that he could do it. Lucy would be impressed, and so would the boss of the newspaper. He did not want to let any of them down.

As his eyes grew heavy, he remembered the way those dark, bespectacled eyes gazed at him clinically, as if he were a subject. Turnbull wished he could work out what was going on behind that Easter Island head statue. The image of Fraser walking through the corridor played through his head. He stood so tall, so proud in his suit. Turnbull had heard from others that Fraser was a difficult character to understand, that he was nothing but a sly snake, only after power. But there was some warmth and compassion there, deep down.

_You speak like an idealist. A true independent thinker._

Turnbull remembered the way that man had complimented him. Only, it was so much more than that. Not only was it flattering, knowing that Fraser was not one who easily gave compliments. It was as if he _understood_ him. The way that the man seemed so eager to know more about Turnbull, the fact that he saw himself in him, spoke volumes. Either the Opposition Leader was a kindred spirit, or someone who could destroy him.

Whatever it was, Turnbull thought as he rolled over for the umpteenth time, he hoped he could be the former to him.

The next day, an exhausted Turnbull made his way back to Parliament House. Despite his best efforts, he did not sleep a wink. Dragging his feet, he finally made it to Fraser’s office. The door was already open.

“Come in, and close the door behind you.” The Opposition Leader called.

Turnbull did just that. As soon as he sat down in the seat facing the politician, he reached into his satchel and turned on the tape recorder.

“Please, Mr Fraser…can you tell me why you agreed for me to interview you again?”

“You have guts, young Malcolm. The fact that you were willing to say it like it is, rather than just agreeing with me and leaving, shows you are more than just a ‘yes man’. We need more people like that in office. Have you considered studying further?”

The young man raised his eyebrows in confusion, “Well…” He said hesitantly, “I am currently studying at the University of Sydney.”

Fraser shook his head.

“What?” Turnbull asked, slightly insulted.

“Your degree won’t be worth much. Have you thought of studying further?” Fraser asked,

“Well, I mean I’d like to study law…” Turnbull admitted,

“You should study at Oxford.” Fraser interrupted, getting up from his chair to gaze out of the window. He clasped his hands behind his back as he surveyed the distant fields. “There was nothing in my life before Oxford. I spent most of my time as a grazier. A real waste, now that I think of it. But when I studied at Oxford, I learnt one of the most invaluable skills in my life: how to think."

“I can’t afford it.” Turnbull sighed glumly, looking downcast. Even though he was earning some money by writing papers, it was nowhere near enough for him to apply at one of the most prestigious universities in the world.

Fraser turned around, slightly surprised at the crestfallen tone of the younger man. He walked up to him, towering over Turnbull’s sitting form.

A hand gently rested on his shoulder.

“What’s happened to the proud, gutsy Malcolm who shouted at me only some days ago?” Fraser asked. “You’ve never struck me as someone who would just quit when things get hard.”

Another hand rested on Turnbull’s free shoulder and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the tall man stood behind him, still talking.

“I’ve had my share of difficult times. But if I gave up every single time something happened, I would not be talking to you now.” He said firmly. “Don’t be a quitter. Life isn’t meant to be easy*.”

“B-but how?” Turnbull asked, flushed from being at such close proximity to the man, “I barely have enough money to pay for the rent, and I want to hopefully settle down with Lu-”

The hands left his shoulders and Fraser stalked back to his chair, sitting down abruptly. Turnbull was confused by this. Was Fraser upset with him for thinking about settling down with the love of his life?

“You’re a little too young to be thinking of marriage just yet.” Fraser grumbled. He put on his glasses, looking down at the papers at his desk.

“Why not? You were only twenty-six when you married.” Turnbull pointed out.

Fraser smiled slightly. “Yes.” He admitted, “But I do not mean young in age. I mean, you are too young in mind.”

Turnbull pulled his seat closer towards the table so he could look at Fraser’s expression properly, “M-Malcolm, I don’t understand what you mean. I love her.”

“Sure, you love her.” Fraser said dismissively, “But someone like you will be forever searching for the next best thing. Your thirst will be unquenchable.”

Turnbull felt his cheeks darken and he rose from his seat, anger rising within him. Before he could stop himself, he climbed onto the desk, grabbed hold of the other man’s tie and pulled him towards him, his fist at the ready.

“You don’t know the first thing about me.” Turnbull fumed.

Fraser smirked, completely unaffected by the other man’s rough actions. “Oh, I think I do, Malcolm.” He responded calmly, “I know you _very_ well. Maybe more than you know yourself.”

“I don’t care what you think of me.” Turnbull spat, knowing that Fraser could see right through his lie. His fist shook.

“You seem to care a lot, if you’re this upset.” Fraser replied. Gently, he reached up and took his hand in his, almost lovingly. “Because, I find that the people whose words upset you the most, are those you care about.” 

Turnbull tugged the tie, almost choking the politician. He leaned in, his body acting completely independently from his mind. But only inches away from the other man’s face, did he stop.

“Are you really a quitter, or can you prove me wrong?” Fraser whispered, his bespectacled gaze locked onto his.

“I…” Turnbull gasped, struggling to process everything that was going on at that very moment, “I’m not.” He tried to say.

“So prove it.” Came the reply, the low voice enticing and dangerous all at once.

Turnbull’s heart was racing, but he thought of Lucy and immediately let go of the tie. He climbed off the desk, face flushed and unable to think clearly. What was he even trying to do, and why did he feel so much guilt?

“I can’t do this.” Turnbull whispered and walked out of the door, ashamed at himself for proving the politician right. Perhaps, he really was a quitter after all. 


	4. Chapter 4

Weeks flew by and Turnbull tried to put Fraser out of his mind. There was no way he was going to interview him again. Nothing seemed so certain since the last time he saw him. Even as he lay beside Lucy, he could not stop thinking of the way that politician gazed at him while he was on the verge of punching him in the face. His partner tried to embrace him, but he lay frozen, his mind replaying those events over and over, the same way he replayed the voice recording when he was alone at night.

“Are you okay?” Lucy asked, noticing how Turnbull’s usual intimacy was replaced by staring at the ceiling mournfully. She kissed him on the shoulder, taking hold of one of his hands, “Did I do something wrong?”

He completely avoided eye contact with his future wife. Dear sweet, beautiful Lucy, with her golden hair had absolutely no idea of the mess that was going on in his mind.

“No, it’s me.” He said sadly, remembering the way Fraser had taken his hand in his office. The temptation to confess everything to her was overwhelming, but he was fearful of giving his thoughts oxygen, in case saying them gave them some legitimacy. “It’s all me.”

Even though he had tried to go about his daily life as if nothing had happened, he still found himself imagining the tall suited figure walk towards him, as if he was just about to interview him for the first time. As much as he hated the way the politician would detract from all the questions, he did enjoy speaking to him and hearing him share his insights. He wondered if Fraser had been as open about his personal thoughts with others before. Secretly though, he hoped it was just him he trusted the most.

Why did he feel so many conflicting feelings about the man? Validation from him seemed far more important than the validation from his university lecturers or peers. Was it due to him being such a powerful politician? Or maybe, it had to do with him admiring him. Turnbull closed his eyes, too exhausted to entertain such thoughts.

The last thing he thought of was Fraser taking his hand as he drifted off to sleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

_He was standing at a podium, the blue Liberal Party logo fluttering behind him in the wind as he spoke with such strength and conviction. But Turnbull barely paid attention to the words. His mind was too focussed on the man who was speaking._

_“Malcolm!” He called out, as the crowd around him grew bigger, threatening to block out Fraser from his view. He struggled and managed to push them aside, not caring at all if they were upset with him. Turnbull raced towards the front of the crowd to where the stage was, waving furiously, hoping that he could get that man’s attention._

_Fraser continued to talk, completely oblivious to him. Turnbull’s heart sank. He needed him to just look his way, to properly acknowledge his presence. Somehow, it mattered a great deal if the politician noticed him. He could not have come all the way here for nothing._

_“Malcolm! Malcolm!” Turnbull shouted, noticing that the politician had eyes for everyone but him. “Please…I love you.”_

A tear rolled out of one of Turnbull’s eyes as soon as he woke up. Given the nature of that dream, he knew he had to do something before he could regret it: he had to let Fraser know that he was not a quitter.


	6. Chapter 6

Without bothering to make an appointment, Turnbull entered Parliament House and let himself into Fraser’s office. He knew that the other man was going to be done soon, and he also knew for a fact that Fraser was not going to be upset at all to see him. The door to his office was left slightly ajar, as if Fraser was expecting him.

Turnbull sat down in his chair and waited, his heart in his throat. He hoped that more than anything that what he was about to do was not going to be too late.

Much to his relief, Fraser entered the room in a matter of moments. He closed the door and went over to sit down at his seat behind the desk.

“Huh. So you’ve finally decided to return.” Fraser stated, almost as if it were inevitable.

“Yes.” Turnbull answered, standing up from his seat. Feeling bold, he walked over to Fraser, took hold of his tie and planted a kiss directly onto his mouth. The politician, completely unsurprised by this, reciprocated, his hand sweeping up against the younger man’s dark locks, pushing him closer to his lips.

After they had done, Turnbull pulled away, panting. He felt giddy with excitement, but also knew that if he continued, he would not be able to stop.

“I had to let you know, before I went to Oxford because it would be too late.” Turnbull explained. “I…I love you.”

Fraser cupped the younger man’s face in his hands. The stern expression barely showed the slightest trace of surprise, for he knew this whole time, perhaps ever since he had first laid eyes on him.

“Be an adviser to me.” The politician insisted, his voice full of determination, “I could feel Labor crumbling just before in the House of Representatives. Gough barely has a foot to stand on. You and me, we can be a team.” His fingertips stroked against the side of the journalist’s face, “I don’t trust anyone else on my staff. They are all ‘yes men’. _You_ have always been destined for great things.”

Turnbull gazed into those dark, solemn eyes. He could see a loneliness there that resonated with himself. If ever there were such thing a soulmate, Fraser would have to be it. Never, had he felt so close, so deeply connected to anyone, especially in such a short amount of time. He felt like he had known him forever. The temptation to drop everything; Lucy, his journalism and the Rhodes scholarship he had only just received, was so overwhelming.

But he couldn’t. Turnbull smiled at the politician bitterly, knowing that whatever they could have would be too much of a gamble to take, too much of a risk on the promising life he was already building for himself.

“I’m sorry.” He apologised, his head bowed. “But I already got the scholarship. I applied, right after you told me to. You were right. Maybe Oxford will be the place for me to truly enrich my knowledge.”

Fraser nodded. There was some disappointment in that stoic face of his, but he understood. “Of course.” He acknowledged, patting him on the shoulder. “You need to do what is best for yourself. But don’t ever give up on your ambitions, nor settle for anything that is easy.”

The young journalist took hold of the politician’s hand, clasping it firmly for he knew this would be the last time he would see him.

“I won’t let you down, Malcolm.”


	7. Chapter 7

Thirty-seven years later, Turnbull sat down at his desk. He began to start typing up the speech that he would later read in Parliament for the man he once loved. As he reminisced on his brief time with him, he wondered how things would have been, had he said yes to be an adviser to him. Would Fraser have been more or less successful as Prime Minister? He wondered. And what about their relationship?

Turnbull closed his eyes briefly, wishing more than anything that he could have spent more time with him. If only he had said yes. Perhaps then, he might have understood him better. But Fraser always believed that they were so much alike anyway. Turnbull had always been a loyal supporter of the Liberal Party, yet like Fraser, he was also so different from the rest of his team. With Fraser, they might have been unstoppable.

As he closed his eyes, he felt a hand brush against his shoulder. Even though he was tempted to open them, he did not need to, for he knew who it was. Now that his soulmate was standing before him, he could finally ask him the question that was running through his mind, well before having to type up the speech.

“Do you think I have what it takes to be Prime Minister?” He asked,

“Without a doubt.” A voice whispered.

Turnbull opened his eyes, still feeling a pressing against his shoulder. But it was his own hand. He sighed sadly. Working alongside Fraser would have given him more confidence in displacing Abbott. Still, having his validation was enough. If Fraser believed in him, and went as far as he did, then he was right.

After he finished typing the speech, he sent for it to be printed, and closed his eyes once more. A light kiss brushed against his lips and he longed for it to last, for him to really appreciate Fraser as a lover. But now, it was all too late. He had made a decision to get into politics, but it took him so long to reach to the position he was in now. Nothing but regret and sadness filled his mind. He would have to start getting ready to deliver the speech of the man he wished he had spent more time with.   
  


If only.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> *Footnotes for explanations: 
> 
> “Life isn’t meant to be easy”: This is a reference to one of Malcolm Fraser’s most famous quotes that he had said during 1971, prior to the famous Dismissal of Gough Whitlam. Fraser always had a very pragmatic, albeit grim outlook on life, and this quote certainly encapsulates that.


End file.
